7
KIERA
Did I just decide to work with Jake freaking Bennett? Yes, I did.
The relief on his face is so palpable. He tries to hide it, but it shows up anyway, so it looks like a cross between a grimace and a half smile. “Great. Would you like to get started right away?”
Does he think I will run away or change my mind if he doesn’t act fast enough?
It’s true that I’m a good fit for the position, but I’m pretty sure he wouldn’t have a problem replacing me.
I look around his office once again.
This place is suave, and maybe Jake is telling the truth when he says they’re not that big yet, but he has a huge backing. And not to mention the starting salary for the position, along with the added perks.
Only a fool would refuse the job. And I’m not one.
But what if it’s the guilt from what happened all those years? What if he’s overcompensating to make it up to me?
I mean, he did send me five Christmas gifts the year we fell apart. It broke my heart all over again, every single time. Didn’t even have the heart to open them.
I search his face to see if I can find it but see no signs of guilt or pity. Either he’s really good at hiding it, or I’m reading too much into it.
Everything happened five years ago. I’m certain he’s still not fixated on everything that happened like I am.
He puts his hand out to me.
I freeze at the sight of his corded muscles that are peeking through his folded shirt. Flashes of images of that night come back to me. His strong arms lifting me up to his hip to lead me over to his bed, his deft fingers finding their way inside…
He coughs slightly, bringing my attention back to the present.
I clear my throat.
“Let’s shake on it?”
realize What harm can a handshake do? I’ve made my decision, and I’m going to stick to it. And I’m also going to ignore the hell out of the small dimple that is luring me in.
As our hands meet, an unexpected jolt of electricity courses through me, a sensation that catches me off guard.
I quickly pull my hand away, hiding the subtle reaction beneath a veneer of professionalism, my expression blank to hide the turmoil I feel inside.
"Let's make this project a success." Jake’s eyes hold a determined gleam.
"Absolutely," I reply, but my mind is momentarily distracted by the lingering warmth from our brief touch.
Jake seems unfazed, his focus returning to the folder on his desk. It’s thick, at least a hundred pages. Maybe more.
“You’ll find all the preliminary information you need about the project there.” “I can’t wait to get started.”
“Wow, you weren’t kidding before. This is a lot.”
“You don’t have to learn all of it right away,” he says. “Baby steps. I just want you to have a heads-up beforehand, so you don’t get overwhelmed later.”
“Thank you.”
He shrugs. “I can be a reasonable person to work with, I think. And you won’t be getting any preferential treatment.”
“Why would I even suggest that?” I frown.
The small smile on his face fades.
I feel a little jolt of dismay.
“Never mind,” he says. “It’s just—”
He shakes his head again. “Of course, I know things are not the same between us.”
The way he says it fills me with a kind of grief that I cannot name.
What does this feeling even mean?
“Can we not talk about that, please?” I know he’s trying to make things normal between us, or at least as normal as he thinks it can be. But I can’t.
What happened back then nearly broke me. I can’t afford to let him that close again. Close enough to shatter my heart again.
He nods and walks over to the door. “Come with me.”
I do as he says and as I go, I text Ellie and Tammy.
You won’t believe who my boss is!!!
His secretary rises from her desk right in front of his office.
“Sir, shall I show Ms. Crofton to her new desk?”
“That’s okay, Bea. I’ve got this.”
She looks puzzled, and that’s the last I see of her before following Jake down the hallway and as we go, we catch a few more curious glances from the other employees.
“Are you supposed to be doing this?”
“What?” He looks at me, frowning.
“I don’t know, showing a new employee around?” I say. “Isn’t that preferential treatment?”
He frowns. “No, of course not. You would know if I was giving you preferential treatment .”
For some reason, his words make goosebumps rise up my shoulder. And I hate myself for it. This means nothing.
I decide to remain silent. I still don’t know what he is thinking.
I notice small quotes, more like questions, are interspersed with paintings on the walls.
“Why did the artist bring a pencil to the party?" I read under my breath.
“That’s a good one,” Jake says.
“What?”
“Do you know the answer?”
Jake was always about corny jokes. It’s the way he has always been. I remember teasing him about how he had become a Dad when he didn’t even have any children.
"I don't know, Jake. Why?" brace myself
"Because he wanted to draw attention." He chuckles at his own joke.
Despite trying not to, I crack a small smile. I can’t help myself. Jake always had that effect on me. But I can’t let him see that, so I cover it with a cough.
I can tell he saw that, though.
“Too corny?” He grins.
I shake my head. Of course, it is corny, but this is also Jake. The same Jake that was my best friend all those years, that would stand up for me. My Jake.
Until he broke my heart. Funny how his betrayal hurt more than Chris’s.
As Jake walks me over to my desk, I start leafing through the folder he handed me to take my head off the past. It doesn’t matter anymore. I should have been over it years ago.
As we go, he's talking, but I don’t catch most of it. Just a sentence here and there. There is one that catches my attention, though.
"We'll be taking on some of the largest and most prestigious collections in France." The hint of pride in his voice is unmistakable.
"Really? What kind of collections are we talking about?"
"We'll be working on pieces by Monet, Degas, Rodin – you name it." His tone carries the weight of the artistic legacy we're about to step into.
I can't help but feel a surge of excitement at the thought of delving into the works of these masters. The names alone are enough to make any art enthusiast drool, and I'm no exception. The prospect of handling such prestigious collections is like a dream come true for any art lover, and it’s a miracle I don’t squeal out loud. Inside, though, I’ve bit into the side of my cheek to hold it in.
I nod, not meeting his gaze. He has no idea how much this job means to me. I can already see myself walking around in Paris or Cannes, discovering artists. I can do more here than I could have ever thought of doing at the museum.
My eyes scan the folder’s contents as he continues, listing major historical artists and detailing the scale of the projects. These are names I’ve only read about in history books. I worked at an underfunded museum where our only claim to fame was a painting by Picasso’s third cousin.
But fate is cruel. I get to have my dream job, but it is side by side with the person I’ve had to bring myself to hate.
I was so hurt after what happened. Not by what Chris had done, but by Jake keeping secrets from me. Sure, I was scarred when I saw Chris in bed with those two women, cheating on me. Having lied to me. But for some reason, it was Jake’s betrayal that hurt the most.
I wonder if things would be different had I found out before we slept together. Would that have been better? Would I have forgiven him if we hadn’t shared a vulnerable moment with each other?
"And that's just the beginning," Jake adds, a spark of enthusiasm in his eyes.
I look at him through my lashes.
He turns his face toward me, and I quickly look away, busying myself with the folder again.
"These are projects I've been working on for years. We're talking about some of the most renowned collections in the art world."
“Everything sounds good,” I say finally.
“Just ‘good’?”
“What do you mean?”
“I’ve seen your resume and the statement you wrote for the job,” he says. “It’s exactly what you love.”
“It is.” I nod, trying to keep the excitement out of my voice because that is an understatement.
This is everything I could have dreamed of and more. In fact, even if it were Chris instead of Jake, I would have also jumped at the opportunity. Actually, scratch that. That might have been a little bit of a stretch.
I would rather jump off a cliff than go anywhere near Chris ever again. Just the thought of him fills me with ick. I shudder internally.
What he did to be might not have hurt as much as disgusted me, but it was enough that I do not want him in my life ever again.
“You okay?” Jake asks.
“I’m just getting used to it all.” I nod. “I mean, the museum was my first job straight out of college and my dream job. In fact, I didn’t see myself working in corporate.”
“And now?”
“I can see myself working here.” I shrug.
“So, are you excited to work together?” It’s just a simple question but so full of vulnerability.
As we navigate the maze of desks, Jake finally stops in front of a workstation. "Here's your desk." He gestures toward the sleek setup. "Make yourself at home."
"Thanks." I take in the organized chaos that defines the workspace. It's clear that creativity thrives in this environment.
I take a seat, and he leans against a nearby desk, folding his arms.
"We have a trip to France scheduled next week. This is why your hiring process was so fast, you’re going to need to break the ground running."
“France? Is this the museum project?"
Jake smirks, a playful glint in his eyes. "It is, so I need you to get familiar with everything as soon as possible."
It makes sense, and I appreciate the strategic approach. "Very well. Anything else I should know?"
He straightens up, his gaze lingering on mine. "Yes, to make sure you get a taste of what we are about, you will be assigned a starting client. All you have to do for now is handle the client. Please let me know if you have any questions. I'll be right over there." He points toward his office.
“And what exactly does handling clients mean here?”
“You’ll be expected to entertain them and indulge them on their whims.” He shrugs. With a sheepish grin on his face, he says, “I’m kidding.”
I miss this about us. The playfulness, the fact that one look was enough to know what the other was thinking, what the other needed. I miss my best friend. But I can’t let him hurt me again.
So, I keep my face blank, and eventually, his smile fades.
“I’m sorry,” he says. “What I meant was you’re expected to make partnerships and evaluate private client work, AKA take each client file and asses what stage we’re at making a sale. Further, we’ll be working on making a tailor-made profile on a client so that we can map their likes and wants and make the next acquisition seamless. That way, we bridge the gap between two sales from an established client by having a portfolio made up for each one of them beforehand.”
“And when new pieces come in, we’ll be able to know who exactly to reach out to first for making a sale.” Sounds like a brilliant idea. It reduces downtime between sales by at least thirty per cent if my estimates are correct.
He looks faintly impressed. “Exactly. Looks like you’ll have no problem fitting in.”
I don’t know why it happens, but I feel a blush creep through my body at his words. Thankfully, he’s gone before my skin stings and grows hot.
After a full day reading the file and getting familiar with my new workspace, thinking about the trip to France, while trying, and failing, not to think about Jake and how good he looks and how close he is and how great he smells, I return home, exhausted.
Flopping down on the couch, I find my mind consumed by thoughts of Jake yet again. I still can’t believe I agreed to work with him.
The images of that passionate night flash before my eyes, uninvited. It's as if the universe is mocking me.
The memory of our intertwined bodies, the heat between us, his musk as it envelops me. It’s a battle of hurt and desire.
“Ugh.” I lie down on my couch. I can’t keep thinking of my boss, ex-best friend this way. That’ll just make everything way worse.